


Suit Intervention

by alvahana



Category: White Collar
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:15:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alvahana/pseuds/alvahana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Neal have a discussion about their differences in clothing taste.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suit Intervention

Peter was waiting for Neal in his car parked outside June’s house when the phone in his jacket pocket buzzed. He took it out, and wasn't surprised to see a new text from Neal.  
  
 _“Be down in 5.”_  
  
 _“What’s taking so long.”_  
  
 _“Fashion takes time.”_  
  
Peter rolled his eyes. _Of course._ Neal was rarely late. In fact, he liked to arrive earlier to get himself prepared for whatever it was ahead. Peter speculated it was probably a habit formed back when he used to run around and pull cons with Mozzie. The only things standing between Neal and punctuality, in Peter’s experience, were hats, ties and suits.  
  
It was Saturday and Neal was usually less dressy on weekends, but today they were attending the launch party of a new clothing brand, one of the biggest clients of El’s catering company. Although this type of social event wasn’t his ideal way to spend a weekend afternoon, he had promised El to be there to support her. And Neal, well, Neal _loved_ this kind of thing.  
  
Peter glanced at his watch; five minutes had passed. They would be late if they didn’t leave soon. Just when he decided to go drag his friend out himself, Neal and his hat ( _“Is that a new hat?”_ ) appeared at the porch, looking as impeccable as ever. In one swift, unhurried movement, Neal slipped into the passenger’s seat.  
  
“You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago,” Peter said.  
  
“Morning, Peter,” Neal greeted him with a bright smile, completely ignoring his comment. Neal was about to say something more, but when he caught sight of Peter’s suit, his eyes turned wide instead.  
  
“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”  
  
“I believe even ghosts have better tastes in clothes than you do,” Neal said in disbelief, still glued to Peter’s suit. “ _What_ on earth are you wearing?”  
  
“A nice suit.” Peter already didn’t like where this conversation was going.  
  
“No, _mine_ is a nice suit.” Neal shook his head disapprovingly. “Yours might as well be a Halloween costume,” he continued. “You do realize Halloween has been over for a month, right?”  
  
Peter glared at Neal, but knew he looked more frustrated than menacing. “Your hatred of my suit is duly noted. Now let’s go.”  
  
“Waitwaitwait. We’re attending a fashion party, the biggest event of the year held by Burke Premiere Events. You’re sure that’s what you want to wear.”  
  
“Why not? This is a classic.” Peter tried to smooth out a crease on his jacket.  
  
“Umm, it’s the farthest thing from classics." Neal grimaced. "You didn’t even iron the shirt, did you.”  
  
“I’m sorry if it’s not up to Neal Caffrey’s standard.” Peter said, a little sheepishly.  
  
"Not sure it's up to anyone’s standard…" Neal mumbled.  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“Hm? Nothing.”  
  
“I know what you’re trying to do, Neal. You might have successfully conquered my house, my wife and my dog, but I’m not gonna let you invade my closet as well,” Peter said defensively. “This is my favorite suit. I won’t throw it away no matter what you say.” In fact, this was his lucky suit, just like his lucky tie. But no, Neal didn’t need to know that. It would just give Neal another excuse to tease him endlessly.  
  
Unfortunately, Neal wasn’t ready to let this subject go just yet. “You know, you have a bizarre taste in clothing.”  
  
“I don’t.”  
  
“You do.”  
  
“No, I—” Peter suddenly felt like they were two kids bickering over whose crayon drawing was better. Trying to suppress the urge to further argue with his friend, Peter heaved a deep sigh. “That's it, enough with my suit. We’re already running late. Let’s get going.”  
  
“Alright,” Neal shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said in a tone that promised to be followed by an _I-told-you-so_ later.  
  
Another sigh. Peter was quickly losing his patience. “What exactly is your problem with my suit, Neal.”  
  
“The problem is, this is the same suit you wore when you arrested me for the first time, like, _seven years ago_ ,” Neal said matter-of-factly. “And let’s be honest, Peter, it might be your favorite, but it’s definitely not like Bryon’s vintage suits; this one has _looong_ gone out of style.”  
  
“Since when have you got promoted from my CI to my personal fashion consultant?”  
  
“I’m just saying, I don't think you can pass the critical eye of those fashion experts with this, not to mention pleasing Elizabeth.”  
  
As much as Peter hated to admit it, Neal did have a point. “Fine, you won,” He said grouchily, trying hard to ignore the slight hint of smug satisfaction on Neal’s face. “Now I know why El insisted on me picking you up.”  
  
“Well, your wife is a smart woman.”  
  
“She is,” Peter nodded. “So what now?" he asked after a moment. "I don’t have any backup in the car, and we don’t have time to go shopping—the party starts in less than an hour...”  
  
“Lucky for you, I’ve got the perfect suit in my loft that will do the trick. Come on.” Neal was already opening the car door.  
  
“Oh so you just happen to have a slick suit exactly of my size perfect for the occasion sitting in your closet?”  
  
Neal just shrugged, but couldn’t quite suppress the smirk forming on his face.   
  
Peter narrowed his eyes. “Neal, did you go suit shopping with my wife behind my back...” he asked, suspiciously. “...using _my_ credit card?"  
  
Neal's smirk turned into a full-on grin. “Like I said, your wife _is_ a smart woman.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted at my LJ: http://alvahana.livejournal.com/2569.html


End file.
